Liberation
by PBCD
Summary: The war brings many changes to Anna's life.
1. Chapter 1

_For all the tragedies brought by World War One, it also offered many women their first taste of freedom. I can imagine Anna would thrive in that new world._

_As always, these characters aren't mine. But they'd be a lot friskier if they were!_

* * *

><p>This was going to change everything.<p>

Anna would be the first to admit that she didn't know much about the world at large. She scanned the newspaper when she got a chance, but she had never been farther than London and even during her brief visits there she had never wandered more than a few miles from Grantham House. Somehow she knew, though, that things were never going to be the same. The world was at war.

She had expected the young men to go, expected there would be extra work, and expected that things wouldn't run the way they always had at Downton. She was ready, eager even, to tighten her belt and do her bit.

The first thing that changed, however, was the one thing she foolishly assumed never would. Silly girl that she had been, she had always believed their situation was only a matter of time. With patience and attention she could wear past his reserve and reluctance and get him to confess what she was sure was the truth; he loved her as much as she loved him. Little did she know the conversation they had during the garden party would be the last time he spoke to her, excepting when there were house matters to discuss or he needed the salt and pepper.

She was bewildered at first, and tried several times to engage him or catch him alone. But it seemed he always kept himself one step ahead of her, subtly excusing himself when there was even the barest potential that they could be left without company. He would hardly look at her, and when forced it was only for the briefest of seconds and always laced with regret. Regret and firm resolve.

It took three weeks before she would let herself acknowledge what was happening, and she cried that night after she was sure that Ethel was asleep. At first she thought it was her fault, that he really was angry with her for calling on his mother and so disgusted that he wanted nothing to do with her ever again. But something about that didn't seem right. She had saved his job. He said he didn't think she was wrong; had even sounded impatient at the suggestion. He mentioned that his mother liked her. It didn't strike her as the behavior of man who was offended, which left her mystified. She had no other ideas to account for his sudden withdrawal, though she racked her brain. A crushing weight settled on her chest as the days stretched on and each moment felt more miserable than the last.

When the United Northern Munitions factory opened in Harrogate, Anna was there to apply on the very first day of hirings. She had seen the posters in the village and something in her gut told her to go. They made her an offer and she jumped at the chance. The family and staff had been good to her, but she had also been quite good to them, serving well and taking care in her job. She considered it an even exchange and didn't feel like she owed them a debt. Plus, workers were desperately needed and the nation's needs had to take priority.

Mrs. Hughes hadn't been happy with the news, of course, but what could she say? Anna was going to help the war effort—she couldn't try to convince her to stay. The gossip quickly filtered through the house. Mr. Bates had been shocked enough to look directly at her when she came to supper, the first time he had done so in ages. He looked stricken, in the brief glimpse she got before he turned away, but it didn't seem to make any difference. Nothing changed in the two weeks before her departure. He was as elusive as ever and she'd stopped trying. All he had to say to her on the morning she left was "Best of luck." Two and a half years condensed into three trite words.

All things considered, Anna found her new situation agreeable. She started at 32 shillings per week, nearly triple her previous wage, and while the work was dirty and malodorous, it was really no worse than blacking grates and cleaning out fireplaces. Some of the girls complained about the dormitories or the 10 hour shifts with only Sundays off. She had lived in a shared attic room and toiled from sunrise to late evening with only a half day every fortnight. Her job here was done when the whistle blew and after that her time was her own. At the estate she could be called upon at any time, and even in her precious leisure hours her world was regulated-no privacy, no self-determination. And Downton was an exceptionally good situation for a position in service.

She worked hard, with the same diligence and determination she brought to everything, and within 6 months she had been promoted to supervise the girls on her line. Between her advancement and wages rising, she was bringing home almost ten pounds each month. When she took her new position she decided to leave the dormitories and find her own space. She rented a room in town from an older couple whose children had grown. It was barely more than a bedroom with a small sitting area, but it had its own side entrance and it was all hers. In all her years she'd never had her own room, and she was elated the morning she moved in.

Her time at Downton seemed very far away now. She occasionally sent a letter to Mrs. Hughes, for formality's sake more than anything else, but otherwise she tried to leave that experience behind her. It had been hard, but the distractions of her job, new friends, and setting up her own little life helped. She still thought of him often, but when he came to mind she aggressively pushed the memories back, reminding herself that it was not to be. The weeks faded into each other and one morning Anna realized that she was happy-maybe not overwrought with perfect bliss, but truly content in what she'd been able to accomplish and the possibilities that lay in front of her.

xXx

Satisfied as she was on the whole, this particular day was turning out to be a long one. It was the first warm afternoon of spring and the girls on her line were hopelessly distracted—their excited chattering and giggling was slowing things down and it had taken some stern words to get them back on task. She rolled her shoulders and pinched the bridge of her nose as the bell rang for their afternoon break, letting the crowd headed for the door pass before her. She stood alone in the factory enjoying a few minutes to herself before deciding that some fresh air might do her good, or at least stave off the headache that was threatening.

As she emerged from the building, she saw a man standing outside the gates, scanning the crowd. She didn't pay much attention at first, assuming it was the husband or father of one of the ladies, but something in his manner made her look twice. She saw a cane, craned her neck to see his face, and nearly fainted with shock. It had been almost a year and a half.

"Mr. Bates? Is that you?"

"Anna!"

She walked over toward him. "This is a surprise. What brings you to Harrogate? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, everything is fine."

"What news from Downton?"

"Everyone is well. Lord and Lady Grantham have let the estate over to be a convalescent hospital, if you can believe it. We house over 80 wounded and ill soldiers."

"Amazing! They've always been fine people. It's good of them to make such a sacrifice."

"Things are quite altered these days. We've all got new jobs to do. Mrs. Hughes still runs the house, but she's also in charge of looking after the nurses who are staying with us. Mr. Carson works with the doctors to manage the stores and supplies. The rest of us try to keep up and make ourselves useful any way we can."

"Have you heard anything from the men away?"

"We don't get news as often as we'd like, of course, but as far as we know most everyone is all right. William and Branson are in Belgium, last we heard. Thomas, Mr. Crawley, and Mr. Molesley are in France. We did lose Jack from the stables two months ago. That was very sad."

"I remember him. We started at about the same time. That's terrible."

He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the bell.

"I need to go," she told him, unsure of what else to say. "We only get 10 minutes."

"I'd like to talk to you, if I might. Can I see you later? When you're done?"

She hesitated. It was nice to see a familiar face, and she could feel a stirring low in her belly as those same old feelings surfaced, but at the same time the hurt came back and she reminded herself firmly that things were different now. Still, he had come all this way and she didn't know why. In the end curiosity won and she found herself nodding, against her better judgment.

"I'm done at six o'clock. Will you be in town until then?"

"Yes, I'm not leaving until the late train."

"Can you meet me at the pub? It's The Lark & Rose, right there around the corner." She gestured across the way, pointing the building out.

"I'll be there."

And he was, as promised, even though she arrived a bit later than she intended. She'd had to sort out a scheduling problem for the next day, and had been vain enough to want to wash the dust from her face and hands before fixing up her hair again.

He smiled when he saw her and for a second everything was forgotten. She was a girl of 24 again, standing in a kitchen, staring at the first man who had ever made her heart flutter. Had that really only been a few short years ago?

He stood as she approached and held out her chair for her. When they were both settled he gestured to a waitress. "You must be hungry if you've just finished. Would you like to get supper?"

She agreed and they placed their order. Once that was done, he sat back, regarding her. "Your dress isn't the same as the rest of the factory girls."

"I was promoted about a year ago," she explained. "I supervise one of the lines."

"I'm not at all surprised. You always were a credit to anything you did." The warmth in his voice made her ache a bit for how things had once been.

They talked then, as they ate. He told her stories about their makeshift hospital—how they had set it up, how it was managed, and the new people who streamed through the estate. She told him all about things at the factory, the girls she supervised, and the home she'd created for herself in town. They were sipping tea, running out of news to share, when she finally asked what had been on her mind all night.

"It's been fun to catch up, but you still haven't answered my question. What brings you to town?"

He looked down, taking a breath as if to gird himself for something, and then met her direct gaze. "I'm a free man, Anna."

What was she supposed to say to that? What business was it of hers? "Oh," was all she could manage.

"I started looking for my wife right as the war was starting. It took a long time, and when I found her it took quite a bit more to convince her to agree to a divorce, but eventually she did. It wasn't a pleasant experience, and it was costly in many ways, but it's done and final. "

"That must be a relief for you," she responded awkwardly.

"I know I behaved badly before you left, and I apologize for it. Things could be different for us now. I finally have something I can offer you."

"Are you trying to tell me you came here to pursue an understanding with me?"

"Yes, Anna. With very sincere intentions."

She could no longer keep up the polite façade. Her temper flared. "Have you gone mad?"

"What?"

"To come to me, after all this time, as if nothing had happened? The nerve—it's breathtaking!"

"You needn't be so blunt. If my attentions are not welcome just say so."

"The same way you showed such infinite care for my feelings when you tossed me aside like so much rubbish?"

"I regret that very much."

"Oh, well, now that that's sorted…" she shot back, sarcasm dripping from her words.

"Anna," he tried again, but she was only getting started.

"Would that be the life I could look forward to? Waiting until you decided what should happen and what's right for me, and being completely disposable if things weren't to your liking? I spent over two years waiting for any little …" she trailed off with a rueful laugh. "That's all you're going to get from me."

"You've changed," he observed, almost to himself.

"I finally took your advice. I dreamt of a better man. It turns out there is one I can imagine-one who doesn't shut me out. One who can't simply drop me and walk away without so much as a backward glance. It was hard, fairly impossible at first, but I managed. I made a life for myself. I'm not giving that up because today you think you fancy me."

"Is that really what you believe of me?"

"What were you expecting, Mr. Bates? Did you think you could just make up your mind that you wanted me and I'd be there?"

"John."

"What?"

"My name is John. We're not below stairs, and we certainly didn't just meet in this pub."

She sighed and looked away. "I should go," she finally said, standing up. "Thank you for supper."

"That's it, then?"

"Goodnight, Mr. Bates. Best of luck."


	2. Chapter 2

It was an ordinary Sunday afternoon, two weeks later, when she was absolutely gobsmacked to answer a knock at her door and come face to face with him again.

"I don't recall telling you where I lived." Perhaps not a greeting her mum would be proud of, but it was the first thought that organized and came out.

"Did you really think I was going to let you leave that pub at night and not make sure you got home safely?"

"I walk home every night, Mr. Bates."

"That is not a thought that will bring me comfort."

"What are you doing here?"

"You said you waited two years for me. I figure I owe you at least the same."

"I don't follow."

"I think," he began, choosing his words carefully, "that despite everything we could still make each other very happy. I was hoping maybe we could start again. You're only a short train ride away. I could visit on my Sundays and work on convincing you. Plead my case, as such."

"For the next two years?"

"If that's what it takes. I've made mistakes. A lot of them. But I can't let you go without trying."

"What do you want from me?"

"Can I come in? Or could we go for a walk, perhaps?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

His eyes flickered. "Is this what you want, then? Me on your doorstep, hat in hand, telling you I love you? Does that leave me sufficiently humbled?"

"That's not what this is about."

"Really, Anna?"

"How can you claim to love me after all of this?"

"I may not have shown my heart easily back then, but it was always yours and I've always been faithful. I am very sorry for how I handled things. I'm here now, and I want to make it right."

"I'm not that girl anymore. I loved you once, but a lot has changed since then."

"Loved? You mean no longer?"

"You broke my heart, John!"

She colored, embarrassed for shouting and angry at herself for saying too much. "It's nice of you to make the trip again," she continued, more calmly, "but I think it's best for both of us to leave the past where it is. Goodbye."

xXx

Though she tried not to think about it, she knew from the stubborn set of his jaw as she closed the door on him that was not going to be the end of it.

He kept his word, arriving every other Sunday on the afternoon train. He came to her door, nodded when she politely rebuffed him, and settled himself on a bench in the square across the street. She could see him from her window—he usually read, first the paper and then a book that he brought with him. He would sit until about six, then go to the pub, buy a sandwich, and return to his spot. Just before nine o'clock he would gather up his things, look one more time at her window, and walk back to the train station.

This went on for weeks, and she got used to the odd little ritual. At first she stayed home on days he came, nervous about interacting any more than she had to, but eventually she refused to be a prisoner in her own home every other weekend. So she started living her life again, leaving to run errands, meet friends, or simply stretch her legs outside in the sun. She would incline her head toward him as she passed and he would touch his fingers to his hat, watching until she turned the corner.

It was nearly four months later, eight visits, though she would never confess to counting, the day he didn't come. She waited in her room for his knock—somehow she always stayed until he arrived, even if she went out later-but it never came. She spent the afternoon scrubbing out her fireplace and the next day she volunteered for extra duties at the factory, solely to distract herself from her unaccountably sour mood.

She told herself it was for the best, since her suspicions were finally confirmed. He wasn't to be relied upon. His interest in her was just a passing fancy and he would disappear anytime it suited him. She was taken aback that his attempt lasted as long as it had. She supposed she should be grateful it ended when it did as she had begun toying with the idea of possibly talking with him, or at least listening to what he had to say for himself. She felt so stupid for that now, for having proven once more that she was just a foolish girl all too willing to let her affections lead her astray.

Still nursing those mournful thoughts, she was shocked to find him at her door the very next week. She knew it was evident in her expression and the question had to be plain on her face, but her pride would not let her voice it. He asked to come in and she told him no, he asked her to come out and she refused, and he headed for his bench. If she didn't know better she might have recognized a bit of a twinkle in his eye, but she firmly pushed the thought out of her mind.

He had been fortunate that he had decided to perform this stunt over the spring and summer when the weather had been fair, but now that autumn had blown in his luck was about to run out. It had been overcast when he arrived and she dismissed him, and about an hour after he took his seat the heavens opened. She glanced up as the deluge began, expecting him to pick up and move inside, but she watched as he calmly opened an umbrella she hadn't noticed he brought, propped it up on his arm, and pulled his book in closer to his chest.

He was still there when she looked up ten minutes later, and then again five minutes after that. The rain was showing no signs of letting up and the wind was howling, whipping it around. She doubted his umbrella was affording him much protection.

Five more minutes crawled by and she couldn't take it anymore. Wrapping a shawl around herself, she ran out her door and across the street. He stood as she approached and moved his umbrella to cover her.

"I can't stand to watch this. Go home, Mr. Bates."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Really, you've made your point. You'll catch your death out here."

"Even if I wanted to leave, and I don't, the next train isn't for two more hours."

"You could at least go sit at the station and stay dry."

"I like being near you," he shrugged. "I have an umbrella."

"You have gone mad, I see."

"Quite possibly," he answered her with a smile.

She turned to go back, but just couldn't make her feet move. The whole situation was ridiculous. She could be adult enough to admit she wasn't quite over him yet—her turmoil this week showed that. It was time to let him speak his piece and be done with it. Whatever he had to say, she would find out what she needed to know. She sighed. "Fine. Come with me."

xXx

He was fascinated at being in her private space. She had never let him through the door before this point. To the left, behind a drape and wardrobe, he could just make out the end of her bed, which looked larger and more inviting than his at Downton. The washstand was on the opposite end of that side of the room, and to the right she had arranged a small sofa, a low table, and two chairs on a rug on front of the fireplace. The furniture was worn, he noticed, but she had covered each piece with colorful blankets he was sure she made herself.

She took his coat and motioned for him to sit down.

"Mr. Carson was ill last week. Nothing serious, just a bad cough that kept him in bed. They needed me to step in."

She was grateful to him for the explanation, and more so for not making her ask. "You must be cold. Would you like tea?" she asked, feeling like she owed him something in return.

"Thank you. That would be nice."

She hung the kettle on the fire, took out a teapot and two cups from the sideboard, and reached into her little icebox for milk. He watched silently as she prepared the tea and could imagine for a second that it was just a quiet domestic ritual, his wife fixing him a cup.

When she was finished she brought it to him and he was startled to find his prepared exactly how he liked it, lots of milk and no sugar. He thought he would have been able to do hers too; a spot of milk and one spoonful of sugar, two if she thought no one was looking.

Her eyes were fixed on her cup. "When I watch you sit out there it reminds me of exactly what it felt like, especially toward the end."

"Was it always that bad?"

"No," she said softly. "It wasn't all bad. Sometimes you would look at me, or we'd laugh and I couldn't breathe. I would be so sure you loved me, but then just as quickly it was gone. Try not to miss me; it'll be good practice…" she echoed in a hollow voice.

"I'm so sorry, Anna. If I could take it back I would."

"I sat outside in the yard the night we learned about the war, and every night after that for a week. It turned cold the last few days, but I stayed, until someone came out to lock up. I did it one more time the night before I left, even thought I knew better by then. There was some tiny part of me that couldn't let go. You shook my hand when I left the next morning, and wished me well as if I was just someone you worked with. I honestly think you had a more intimate goodbye with Thomas. I made up my mind on the way to the train station that I was done and that I was never going back."

"I panicked, and I was proud. " He looked intently at her, waiting for a sign that she was willing to let him explain. She put her cup down and settled back, facing him. Deciding that was all the encouragement he was going to get, he took a deep breath and started in.

"I did love you, even back then, much as I felt I couldn't act on it. I fell in love with you very early on, but it seemed hopeless. You're so beautiful and so young, with your whole life ahead of you, and I was shackled to a past that was nothing but disgrace. There wasn't anything I could give you while still trying to be a decent man.

It only got worse when the war started. They way I saw it, there were only going to be two possible outcomes, either I went or I stayed behind. I know first-hand what leaving does, how the separation affects things, no matter how it was before. The idea of that was terrifying—exposing you to that kind of ugliness, forcing you to wait and worry, and then if I didn't come back, or came back worse off than I was the last time…" he trailed off and shook his head.

"And then it occurred to me, very selfishly, that if I left you behind you might come to your senses and realize how much better off you were without me, realize that you could turn the heads of much younger men with much more to offer you, and there would be nothing left to concern myself with. I have some experience in that matter as well," he muttered, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice and nearly succeeding.

"Unpalatable as all that was, it was still infinitely preferable to the option of not going. To have been marked as unfit and useless—I could barely even bring myself to think about it. His Lordship would go, I was certain. If I were not to accompany him there wouldn't be much need for me. So not only would I have the shame of not serving, but I would be unemployed, with very poor prospects.

Either way, Anna, I saw nothing good ahead for us, and I was getting nowhere with finding Vera. Most of my letters were returned, and the responses I did get confirmed that no one had seen or heard from her in years. I thought releasing you would be the best thing I could do, since my state of affairs seemed beyond repair.

I wasn't thinking clearly. The announcement brought a lot of unpleasant things back for me and I overreacted. By the time I got my wits together and saw that there were other options, you were gone. The regret has been with me every day. The only thing that got me through was the tiny hope that I might someday be able to fix what I ruined."

She listened quietly while he tried to account for himself. Some of what he had to say astonished her, and she could empathize with him in places, for the fear and apprehension he must have felt, but she couldn't get past how so much pain, for both of them, could have been avoided if he'd just trusted her and talked to her as an equal instead of thinking of her as a child who had to be protected.

"Why come to me now, after all this time?"

"I got the final decree for the divorce in the post this spring. After that I came as soon as his Lordship and Mr. Carson could spare me for a day. I didn't want to wait any longer than absolutely necessary."

"But how does that make anything different? You still only came when things were sorted to your liking. You didn't come when you recognized you'd made a mistake, or when you thought about how I might have felt. You didn't think enough of me to talk to me about what was happening or let me help work it out with you."

"I hadn't thought about it that way, to be honest. You shouldn't have to bear the burden of my problems. I didn't think it would be right, after everything, to come to you with anything less."

"I can see that you've suffered too, and I feel for you there. Some of it I can even understand. However much I don't agree with the choices you made, I do believe that you meant well. But after all this I'm not sure I'll ever be able to trust you again, at least not in the way I'd need to trust a man I could spend my life with."

He deflated a bit at her words and stared into his cup as if it contained the answers he was looking for. "Would you still have left, if I hadn't been so stupid?"

"No," she replied with certainty. "I suppose I'd probably be your wife today. But as much as I'd never wish parts of this experience on anyone, I'm happy now. I like my work and having my own home. I'm free to make my own choices and plans for the future."

"Have you made plans?"

"Nothing specific. It's just dawned on me that there's a whole world I've never seen. I went from my father's farm straight to Downton. I honestly thought I'd either marry a local man or spend the rest of my life as a housekeeper somewhere. Now I see that after the war I could go anywhere. I could use some of what I've saved up to travel, or I could start a whole new life somewhere. There are so many more choices than I ever imagined before. "

It was bittersweet, the light in her eyes as she talked about all of the possibilities for her life that didn't include him, that would take her far away from him.

"Can we be friends, Anna, if nothing else? I miss you. Even now, I'll see or hear things that make me think of you and all I can feel is the hole in my life where you belong. Yes," he added, holding up his hands to fend off her response, "I know I have nobody to blame for that but myself."

"I don't know, John. I really don't." He hung his head, and she felt some sympathy for him. It must have taken a lot for him to come back after her first angry response, and then to endure her dismissals for so long. "But maybe I can try," she found herself saying and the smile he gave her was worth the effort. She had liked him before she loved him, she reflected. Perhaps there was something worth trying to salvage.

"I couldn't ask for more."

She looked up at the clock. "You'd probably be able to make that next train if you headed for the station now."

"I don't have to be back just yet. I can take my usual train tonight."

"I think we've said a lot for one day. I need time to take it all in. Please."

He agreed reluctantly and stood while she got his coat. He slipped it on then surprised her by taking her hand.

"Thank you for letting me in today. I won't make you regret it."


	3. Chapter 3

She regarded him curiously as he knocked on her door the next week, back on his regular schedule. "You brought a book."

"I didn't want to make assumptions." He held up a box. "I also went by Mr. Martin's."

Her smile came before she could stop it. He remembered. She had told him the story once of how she had gone to the village with her first wages, giddy at the idea of having her own money to spend. She considered every item in all of the shops before settling on buying herself a treat from the bakery. It was the most wonderful thing she'd ever had, tasting of butter, sugar, and her own means. Mrs. Patmore was a fine baker, but nothing was ever quite so delicious as Mr. Martin's offerings. It was the one luxury she occasionally allowed herself. He loved to tease her about buying something she could get at home for free, but when she finally broke off a corner of one of her cakes and offered him a bite he did concede it was the best thing he'd ever tasted as well.

He grinned at her in response, and she realized it was going to be very hard to stay angry at him. She welcomed it, though. It had been exhausting, being so mad. She might be glad to set that burden down now that she knew he understood how badly he'd hurt her and that he genuinely regretted it. It didn't mean she could afford to forget, however, or let herself get carried away again.

She stepped back and allowed him in. After hanging up his coat she started making tea, mostly in an effort to calm her nerves. She took it and plates over to her table and sat down stiffly at the opposite end of the sofa, realizing she had no idea what to say or do next. A furtive glance at him revealed a similar disquiet on his face. Things used to be so easy between them—it had always felt as if they were having one long conversation that had started the night of his arrival at Downton and was picked up again in any odd moments they could find together.

She reached for the box, deciding she could at least make work of serving out whatever he'd brought. As she pulled off the lid she gasped in surprise. "John, how many people did you think you were feeding?"

He looked at her worriedly, and then down at the box. It did seem a little ridiculous now. He counted twelve items; a shortbread, two scones, four tarts, three cakes, and two chocolate biscuits. He hadn't been sure what she would want and was anxious about whether she would even see him at all. He really only remembered dumbly pointing at things as the girl behind the counter scurried around to fill his order.

"I might have gotten a bit carried away," he muttered sheepishly.

She couldn't help it—she burst out laughing. Thankfully he joined in, grateful to relieve some of the awful tension. "Well," she finally said, wiping at her eyes, "I have missed Mr. Martin's bakery. I guess I'll get to remember a bit of everything."

Fortunately that broke the ice. She plucked out a tart and sat back with her cup. He did the same and they got to talking again, moving smoothly between topics as varied as news from the continent and their childhood memories. He was a little different than she remembered, freer and lighter away from the estate and their past constraints, and she decided it suited him.

Eventually they needed more than tarts and biscuits to sustain them and he suggested they go get supper. He offered her his arm as they walked toward the pub. She took it, unable to think of how to decline without calling attention to it, but she made sure to stay to his right whenever they walked together after that. She didn't want either of them getting ideas. She did show him around a bit on the way home, though, pointing out her favorite parks and shops. Awkwardness settled again as they came back to her room. After lighting the lamps and stoking the fire, she picked up his book from the table and appraised it, happy to have something to occupy her hands.

"_Of Human Bondage_," she read, tracing the cover. "This looks interesting," she said, attempting to fill the silence.

"I've only just started on it myself. I could read it, if you'd like?"

She agreed, having no better ideas for how to pass the time until his train came, and it worked out quite well. Anna had always loved his voice and he had a talent for reading aloud. She was actually a little disappointed when he had to stop to get ready to leave.

"I can bring it back. We could keep going next time."

"That would be nice, but won't it be missed if you keep it that long?"

"I don't think so. The family always finishes what they want before they put them into the library, and the rest of us are so busy these days that it's not unusual to take a while with a book."

"If you're sure, then."

"So there will be a next time?" he asked quietly, lingering on the threshold.

"I had a good day," she admitted, smiling as she closed the door behind him.

xXx

Over the next two months Anna was pleased to find that John turned out to be a very good friend. They had settled into something of a routine as the weeks passed. They would catch up over tea when he arrived, amusing themselves with conversation or various diversions until it was time for supper. He always had stories to tell or something he'd torn out of the paper to show her, and he seemed very interested in her work and life in Harrogate.

She found they laughed a lot, which was fun. One memorable afternoon he happened to notice a board and pieces for draughts that had been left as part of the furnishings that came with her room. She'd tucked them away without thinking about it, but he convinced her to pull them out and play. She giggled and he feigned great injury as she captured his men and trounced him quite decidedly in their first game, but he turned the tables on her in the next. They wound up spending the entire afternoon locked in intense battle, calling a truce only when they couldn't ignore their empty stomachs any longer.

After walking out to eat they would come back and pick up their book until he had to go. They were on their second novel now. She had asked for something happier this time, so he had brought them _Emma_ with only a mild bit of grumbling. She suspected he didn't find it as frivolous as he made it out, but she let him have his masculine pride.

They were chatting comfortably this particular Sunday, and he couldn't help but notice an extra sparkle in her eyes. He didn't flatter himself that he was the cause of her exceptionally sunny mood, but he was curious all the same. "You seem awfully cheery today," he remarked as he drained his cup.

"I suppose I am. Our foreman pulled me aside yesterday afternoon and told me that Mrs. Green, the shift supervisor, will be leaving next month and they want me to take her place. I still can't believe it."

"Anna, that's wonderful! Congratulations!"

"Really?" She had thought he might not be so pleased at the news that she was advancing in the job that kept her interests away from what she suspected he still wanted from her.

"Absolutely. I know how much you care about your work. I'm glad to see it recognized. You'll do a great job."

"Thank you," she answered, shocked and touched by his encouragement.

"We should celebrate. Surely there must be somewhere in town better than the pub for supper tonight. What about the dining room at the hotel?"

"No, John. That's very generous of you but it's not necessary."

"Nonsense. I insist."

"I couldn't."

This went on for a few more rounds until he was able to convince her that he was sincere. She accepted then and excused herself to change into a more formal dress before they left. He kept his eyes very carefully fixed on the fire as she moved behind the drape and tried desperately not to hear any rustling and certainly not the sound of her dress falling to the floor. He finally resorted to biting his tongue to distract himself, knowing that if he allowed his imagination to shade in even one detail there would be no hope for him.

She reappeared and he ushered them out the door quickly, grateful for the late autumn chill that evening. He had mostly settled down by the time they reached the hotel, and he remembered to tell her that she looked lovely. She seemed to appreciate the compliment and they had a delightful meal together in the elegant dining room. He'd seen grander in his travels with Lord Grantham, but it was the best Harrogate had to offer and therefore properly befitting Anna's accomplishment.

They crossed through the square as they ambled back to her place afterward, neither of them in any particular hurry. He paused as they passed his bench. "My old home," he said with an enigmatic grin.

"I can't imagine what the neighbors thought of you sitting out there. They had to have noticed."

"As it happens, a very kind lady came up one day and gave me a shilling. She said she had seen me out there before and was worried about me. She must have noticed my cane and come to the wrong conclusion."

"No! What did you do?" she asked, gasping with laughter.

"What could I do? I tried to give it back, but she wouldn't take it. I couldn't very well explain that I was sitting outside your house like a lovesick schoolboy hoping you'd talk to me. I put it in the church box on my way back to the station that night."

She didn't miss his remark, but she decided to let it pass. He had been careful at first about keeping his feelings to himself, but as time went by more and more slipped out. He'd say things, as he just had, she would catch him staring at her, or he would find little excuses to touch her—helping her over curbs, guiding her through doorways, and the like—and linger longer than was strictly necessary. She knew she needed to address it soon, to remind him that she'd agreed to friendship and no more, but this night, when he'd been so good to her, was not the time.

"Were you really going to sit there in the rain all afternoon?" She'd been wondering for months.

"I might have. It would have been a small price to pay. You looked so shocked to see me—it was the first hint I'd gotten that you even noticed whether I came or not. I think I was praying that you might finally take pity on me and relent."

"I'm glad I did," she said, haltingly.

Her words shook him straight through. He wanted so badly to take her in his arms and show her that however glad she was, he was infinitely gladder. He couldn't recall ever being as happy as he was now, and the idea that he might be able to make her happy too filled him with a nearly reckless glee. He was just able to check himself, though. He knew that if he overstepped he risked undoing everything that had taken so long to build. He allowed himself only a second to briefly cover her hand with his before smiling at her and starting them back to walking again.

xXx

She wasn't quite prepared for the sight that greeted her as she opened the door two weeks later.

"You don't look so good," she said as he came inside.

"Stop, Anna. You'll make me blush."

"I'm serious. You don't look well at all."

"It's just a little cold. I'm fine."

"You should have stayed home. You're in no shape to be traveling."

"I certainly wasn't going to let a few sniffles stop me from seeing you!"

"You really are a stubborn thing, aren't you?"

"It's not that bad."

"Sit down. Let's get you some tea."

He collapsed more than sat on her sofa as she busied herself setting the water to boil. Why had he dragged himself all this way in the state he was in? Was he trying to get himself seriously ill?

She brought his cup to him and he sipped at it gratefully.

"Can I trust you to rest here quietly while I go get a few things?"

"There is no need to trouble yourself."

"Hush. If you're going to turn up like this, you're going to have to endure being fussed over, painful as it may be."

He laughed a tiny bit at that and relaxed back against the cushions. Satisfied, she grabbed her bag and set out. She went first to the grocer for aspirin, honey, and a lemon. She hesitated a moment, then added a small bag of fruit drops to her purchases as well. After that she stopped by the pub for soup before heading back home.

He hadn't moved since she left, and he appeared to be dozing, though he woke when he heard her come in. She poured him another cup of tea, with lemon instead of his usual milk, and stirred in a generous spoonful of honey. She set that in front of him along with the aspirin and fruit drops and worked on dishing up the soup.

He picked up the packet of fruit drops. "What's this?" he asked.

"My mum used to get me those when I had a sore throat. I don't know if they're exactly medicinal, but they always made me feel better."

He gazed up at her and smiled softly. "Thanks," he said, gently holding the bag and examining it almost reverently.

She carried the soup in and sat next to him, making sure he ate his and drank all of his tea. His eyes started to droop again after he finished and she couldn't help thinking that frustrating as he was, there was something about his sleepy expression and mussed hair that tugged at her.

"I don't suppose I can convince you to take the early train back and get yourself to bed?"

"Not likely."

"Would you at least consider lying down here for a while?"

He looked like he wanted to protest, but eventually sighed and nodded. "Just for a few minutes until my aspirin takes hold. I got us a new book. I'm looking forward to starting in."

She helped him unlace his boots and he kicked them off before settling down on her sofa. She pulled a blanket over him.

"Thank you, Anna. You're too good to me."

"You once looked after me quite well. I can finally return the favor."

"I was returning your kindness then. Nicest thing anyone has ever done for me," he mumbled, drifting off.

"There were 57 stairs between the kitchen and my room, John. I counted later that week. We're even."

He still brought her flowers on his next visit.

xXx

"I suppose it's that time," he said regretfully, marking the page and closing their book. He had selected _A Christmas Carol _this time, insisting that they should have something appropriate for the season. Even though she practically knew it by heart, she was thoroughly enjoying listening to him tell the story again.

"I suppose so," she agreed. She got up to get his coat.

"My least favorite time of the week," he continued, following her.

"Oh, I'm sure I could think of worse. I can't imagine sorting his Lordship out after he goes riding through the mud is much fun. What about putting up with Mr. Carson's fine moods on inventory days? Or listening to Miss O'Brien gripe when there's any extra work to be done? I don't miss that one bit!"

"Any of those is a joy compared to the train ride away from here."

Her cheeks reddened, and she handed him his coat, watching while he put it on and then busying herself with straightening it out. She fixed his collar and then examined his scarf.

"John, what is this tatty old thing?"

"What?"

"This scarf has certainly seen better days. Why are you still wearing it?"

"It's my favorite. I always wear it on my days off."

"You have a sentimental attachment to this knobby, uneven creature?"

His lips twitched. "You made it."

"I don't remember ever making you a scarf," she answered, brow furrowing, "and while I'm no master, I'm certain I can do better than this!"

"I didn't have much when I first arrived at Downton. There was a cold snap that April when I came and Mr. Carson noticed I wasn't wearing a scarf when we left for church my second week. I told him mine must have gotten lost when I changed houses and he pointed me toward a box of spares in the cloakroom. He said they were your early attempts from when Mrs. Hughes taught you to knit."

"Oh yes—that's right. She taught me a couple of years before you arrived. She was shocked my mum hadn't seen to it and said it was a skill every woman should have."

"This one was the best of the lot. I've worn it proudly ever since."

"Surely you could have replaced it many times over by now."

"You made it," he repeated, the huskiness in his voice making her shiver.

She looked down, color rising further on her cheeks. "I think I owe you a better effort. Maybe that will be your Christmas present this year." She fussed with it some more, smoothing it down and patting it into place.

Something about her shy smile and the feel of her hands on his chest snapped the last thread of reserve that had been holding him back. In that ordinary moment, nothing on Earth could have stopped him from setting aside his cane, taking her face in his hands, and kissing her soundly.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: This chapter might not cross the boundary from T to M, but in all fairness it does come right up to the line and take a good look at it. :-) Fair warning. _

* * *

><p>He felt amazing.<p>

There had been moments lately when he would get distracted in the middle of a sentence, when his gaze seemed to linger on her mouth while his eyes darkened, and she would wonder if he was going to kiss her. She found herself thinking, as she completed output logs and reviewed production schedules, about what it might be like if he did. She realized with a little thrill that there wouldn't be anything stopping them. She was a grown woman, perfectly capable of sharing intimacies with a man if she chose, and there were no claims on him. She had the privacy of her own place and no one watching over her shoulder. She was free to go as far as she dared.

His body was warm and solid and his scent was wholly intoxicating. She brought her hands to his waist and fit herself to him snugly. He tilted her head to deepen the kiss, and she came to meet him eagerly. In all of what she had started to imagine, it was never as good as this.

When he finally stepped back it took a minute for her to catch her breath. "Do you do that with all of your friends?" she asked with a wry smile.

"I don't recall you pushing me away," he answered shyly.

"You're a fine figure of a man, John. I won't deny there's an attraction." A bit of unease welled inside her. "But that doesn't mean I'm willing to give anything up," she added hastily.

She was attracted to him? Back when such things seemed relevant he had hoped that she didn't find him repugnant; that love had left him tolerable in her eyes. At nearly twenty years her senior it was the most he had allowed himself to wish for. As happy as this news made him, it was tempered by what he realized later on the train ride home. She still felt like he would be taking from her, instead of giving. Would he ever be able to make her see?

xXx

Her shoulders were pressed against the arm of her sofa, and he held her firmly around her waist. He was as close as he could get, her legs draped across him as he moved his mouth hotly with hers. He had undone her bodice and worked his hand inside with her enthusiastic encouragement. She unhooked her corset, offering her breasts for his touch, though they remained hidden under her chemise.

This wasn't completely new territory for them. During his last several visits she had allowed his exploration of her, first grazing at the sides of her chest while kissing, and then more boldly caressing her through her dress as she gasped her approval. Last time she had consented when his hands hovered over her buttons and he very carefully released them all, afraid to speak or breathe lest she stop him. For two weeks he had been haunted by the memory of the feel of her under his hands and it was only now, given leave to touch her again, that he could convince himself it hadn't been another of his torturous dreams.

He risked leaning in to take one of the tantalizing peaks into his mouth, her chemise smooth under his tongue as he raked it over her. Her hand, which had been tickling his neck, clenched and she let out a broken sigh. Encouraged, he continued indulging while she writhed in his lap. He stopped to look at her and the sight of her head thrown back, her body laid out before him, and the faint outline of her nipples through the dampened cloth incensed him even further. He was sure she could tell-his arousal must have been unmistakable where her thigh lay, but he didn't want to hide it from her. He wanted her to know just how much she affected him and the idea that she had thus far accepted it gave him hope that maybe one day she would accept all of him.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, moving forward to kiss him again. He lingered, letting his tongue stroke hers, before breaking away and kissing her neck, her throat, her collarbone, and back to her breasts again. As she moved her skirts gathered up and when he ran his hand down the length of her body he was surprised to feel them at her knees. He didn't mean to push, he really didn't, but he just couldn't get enough of her. He glided his hand up again, catching the hem and tugging them farther upward until they bunched on her thighs.

He tentatively touched her legs, stroking the warm flesh and reaching up to clutch her hip, guiding her tighter against him. He looked up at her again and found her watching him, her expression unreadable. "Is this all right?" he asked. His heart nearly stopped as she nodded and her knees fell slightly apart. He kept his eyes locked to hers as he slowly moved his hand between her legs, groaning as the heat seared his fingers. She arched her back and slid down, opening herself to him further. He pressed his hand into her and then trailed it up to play at the waist of her bloomers.

"Yes," she breathed, the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. He eased the garment down her legs before returning to the bounty now laid out before him. He touched her gently, his own pulse thundering in his ears, and was amazed at how ready she was. He shifted, now earnestly uncomfortable within his own confines, and forced himself to concentrate on her. He drew his fingers over her and into her, the pleasured noises she was making delighting him as she began to rhythmically rock her hips. He tried to match her until she suddenly stilled and cried out sharply. He held his breath as he watched her shudder and pant, her undoing pulling at something within him. As she began to calm he kissed her deeply and was surprised to find her soft and yielding under him.

"That's never…I've never…I didn't know…" she gasped, searching his eyes.

"God, you're beautiful like that," he rasped, his voice full of emotion, but it was too late. He could see her starting to close herself off. She brushed her skirts back down before maneuvering herself out of his grasp and away, grabbing her bloomers and disappearing behind the drape in the other room.

When she came back she was a different woman, briskly suggesting they go get supper and not quite meeting his eyes. His chest tightened and he wondered if this is what she had felt like, back then, when he had been such a damnable fool as to push her away. If it was even a little like that he couldn't bear to ask her forgiveness because the pain he felt right then seemed like the type that would never go away, lurking forever in his heart like the shrapnel that bit at his leg.

xXx

After the disquiet during the rest of his previous visit, he was surprised to find her eager to resume things when he arrived on his next half day. It had been a difficult evening last time. Neither had much of an appetite as they sat at the pub, and they had barely talked. He tried, tentatively, to bring it up on the walk home but the warning glare she shot him quickly killed his nerve. His place in her life felt so precarious that he didn't dare push—he wasn't sure she'd hesitate much before calling the whole thing to an end.

He was grateful for their book, because otherwise he would have been quite at a loss in the hours after. It was worse than it had ever been at the beginning and in one low moment he almost wished he was back on his bench. That hadn't hurt nearly as much, or felt so hopeless. How could something that he thought would be so wonderful go so terribly wrong?

Now, they had barely exchanged pleasantries before she led him to sit down and practically launched herself into his arms. He was relieved that she was still interested in him, but continued to be troubled by the outcome of their last encounter. Deciding he'd let her set the pace, he spent several minutes just enjoying their kisses while resisting the temptation to let his hands wander or advance things along.

Eventually she pulled back. "John?" she asked, puzzled.

"Yes?"

"Is something the matter? Do you not want to…?"

"I do, but I'm not sure we should. Things didn't seem to end well last time."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I got a little overwhelmed. It seemed like one minute we were kissing, and then it all happened very quickly"

"I'm sorry if I took liberties, Anna. I didn't mean to."

"No! No, it's not that. It was definitely both of us, I just never expected it to move so fast or to feel like it did."

"What did it feel like?"

She blushed. "I was surprised at how fierce it was, and how much I wanted once we got going. I completely lost my head."

"I understand. I feel the same way, but I promise I will never try to demand more than you're comfortable with. I can control myself."

"I know you can, but I'm not sure I want you to," she answered with a playful grin. "I've had time to think about it, and aside from how I acted toward you I don't have any regrets. There are things I can imagine trying that would be quite enjoyable," she purred, ghosting her fingers across his neck and making him shiver.

"Show me," he pleaded. "Show me what you want."

She made her wishes quite clear, eventually coming to settle atop him and running her hands up and down his chest, venturing closer and closer until she brushed across him, almost as if by accident. He gasped and so she did it again, more brazenly this time. His hips bucked involuntarily and a groan escaped him. She started to explore in earnest then, slipping open the buttons of his trousers and stroking him until he had to grab her hand and grit his teeth to hold on. He didn't know what she was expecting, and didn't feel sure enough to lose himself with her yet.

She climbed off of him, murmuring that she'd be right back. He dropped his head against the back of the sofa, sucking in deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Returning, she sat at his side and pressed a packet into his palm, looking at him, waiting nervously for his reaction.

He could not possibly have been more shocked. "Anna, where did you get these?"

"Ladies come around the factory, passing out pamphlets and hinting about 'arrangements'. There are places one can get such things, if desired."

He stared down at them again, then back up at her. Part of him wanted to refuse her, to demand a wedding ring and promise, but deep down he knew he'd take her any way he could get her. If this is what she would give him, this is what they would have. "Are you sure?"

"We're both adults, John. I want to, and there's no reason why we can't. Do you want to?" she asked, her nerve faltering a bit.

The uncertainty in her voice propelled him. Despite his reservations he couldn't stand the idea of her thinking he didn't desire her. "Yes. Very much so," he answered, his eyes dark and serious, riveted to hers.

She led him to her bed, which she hadn't allowed before, and let him remove her dress, her corset, and the rest of her layers. She reached for his clothes with trembling hands and he helped her until they were both uncovered. She got into the bed, moving over to make room for him and he followed, reaching out for her. They made love, slowly, with a little hesitance for both of them. He felt a bit of boorish relief in finding her to be entirely inexperienced. He hadn't been brave enough to ask if she'd had any entanglements since leaving Downton and couldn't deny the satisfaction he felt when he understood that he was the only one thus far to be granted this privilege.

She lay with him afterward, letting him curl himself behind her, but she couldn't think of anything to say and he eventually drifted off, leaving her alone with her thoughts. It wasn't as trying as she'd feared. She'd heard enough whispering to make her nervous, but she figured any woman who'd ever been married had borne it and lived to tell the tale, so it couldn't be that bad, and everything leading up to it certainly felt wonderful. She needn't have worried; he was gentle and considerate, seeing to her pleasure before taking his own. She was sure she'd made the right decision and was glad he was willing to agree to it.

She could only hope he understood the situation and that this would be enough for him. She'd been enjoying his company, and he'd been trying very hard, but as much as she appreciated his efforts she didn't see how they could go much further together. He had originally sought her out with, as he put it, sincere intentions. She knew he would think that would be the decent thing to do, but she didn't want to quit her job and go back to Downton. If she had any choice about it she'd never be caged like that again.

She also recognized that half a Sunday every fortnight was much different than having a husband. She liked not answering to anyone and having a place that was totally hers. He'd been encouraging about her work and hadn't made any demands on her thus far, but surely he'd expect different of his wife.

No, she thought, anything more would probably only destroy what they had now, which would be a shame, because he had been right—they could make each other very happy.

xXx

Their routine changed, with this new development. At first they made half-hearted attempts at conversation when he arrived, but they quickly abandoned that pretense and more often than not she found herself thrust up against her door before she could even say hello, not that she minded in the slightest. His coat, which used to be neatly hung, was usually abandoned in a heap on the floor until one of them came back out for tea or provisions. Occasionally her dress joined it.

It wasn't that they didn't talk anymore; they just did it later, burrowed together under the blankets, whiling away the frigid winter in the warmth of each other. They continued to laugh a lot, but their topics of conversation also grew more intimate. He was able to tell her about Africa, and how he'd never once imagined the things he'd see or do there. He told her how he'd been wounded, how his life had fallen apart afterwards, and how he'd finally determined to put it back together. Her stories came out as well; she told him of watching her parents struggle to survive on their farm and knowing even as a girl that she didn't want that life for herself. He was surprised to hear her confess how frightened she'd been when she arrived at Downton, and how she struggled to make a place for herself. She admitted to being very scared again when she'd arrived in Harrogate and realized she was truly on her own. Even though she didn't like to talk about it, he tried to make it clear how much he regretted his mistakes and how grateful he was to be with her.

On one particularly nasty afternoon he took the initiative to stop by the pub and get them sandwiches on his way to her place to she wouldn't have to go out in the wind and sleet. Later, when they didn't have to get dressed or leave her bed to have supper, she decided it was a capital idea and proposed they continue on, at least until spring. Given that her bare body was tangled tightly with his as she made the suggestion, he couldn't think of a single objection.

The one thing that didn't change too much was their books. He continued reading to her, only now it was much more likely done with him propped up on her pillows, and her resting against his chest, feeling the rumble of the words as he spoke them. She still loved listening to him, at least until the temptation of proximity became too great and she set out to distract him. She began to suspect he was deliberately choosing very dull books, solely to encourage her. In any case, it was taking them much longer to finish a novel, but they had no complaints.

For a few months it was bearable. He lay with her over and over, in as many ways as she would permit, trying to show her how much he loved her. Afterward he clung to her, hoping to prevent her eventual retreat but never quite succeeding. She rarely let him touch her when they weren't in bed, or kiss her goodbye when he left. It drove him mad that he could be inside her in the afternoon and have her duck away at the end of the night. He tried to be patient, reminding himself that this was all new to her and that she likely still had doubts about him, but he wished they could actually be lovers, instead of just pretending at it every other week.

xXx

She looked exhausted. Her eyes were missing their usual spark, and there was none of her normal strength in her bearing. She appeared completely and totally worn out as she greeted him that afternoon. Somehow pinning her to the wall didn't seem appropriate, so for the first time in a long time, he stepped in, hung up his coat, and followed her to the sitting area.

"Anna," he started, racking his brain for the right words to find out what was going on without somehow offending her. "Are you feeling well?" he finally asked.

She sighed. "I'm fine. I'm just tired. We've been running overtime and Sunday shifts at the factory. This is the first time off I've had since I saw you last. They sent one of the girls round for me at half five this morning because they had mixed up the run plans for today. I only just made it back here to see you."

"That sounds rough. No wonder you can barely hold your head up."

"I'm sorry, John. I don't mean to disappoint you."

"How could you disappoint me?" he asked, baffled.

"You've come all this way."

"It's not a problem," he replied, still not understanding what she was getting at.

She flushed. "I know I'm not up to… Not just yet at least. Maybe tonight I could try?" she finished awkwardly.

"Is that why you think I come to see you?" he asked, incredulous.

She averted her gaze but said nothing.

"What did you think I was doing all that time before?"

"Hoping?" she replied uncertainly.

He wasn't sure whether to be insulted or to feel sorry for her. Some combination of both was swirling around in him, but he knew nothing good would come of trying to address it in the state she was in.

"We're going to talk about that, but now is not the time. You need to rest. Why don't you go lay down?"

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. I'll go get a paper and keep myself occupied while you sleep. We can have supper together later if you're up for it. Have you eaten anything today?"

"No, but I'm too tired right now."

"Come on. Off you go." He led her back to her bed and noticed that it was unmade; a testament to the demands she'd been bearing lately. He undid her dress and she raised her arms so he could pull it off her. He put it back in her wardrobe as she unhooked her corset and lay down wearing just her chemise and stockings. He thought of getting those off of her, but he hated to disturb her as she got comfortable.

He eased the blankets up to cover her. "I'll be back soon." He kissed her forehead and let himself out.

He returned with his paper and had just settled himself on the sofa when she came back out into the sitting area.

"Anna? Is there something you need?"

"I'm so tired I can't sleep, I think."

"What can I do?"

"I like it better with you," she finally said, her eyes fixed on a point just beyond him.

Liked what, he wondered. Then it dawned. She wanted him to lay down with her. Why didn't she just say so? What was it that made her feel like she couldn't ask? "It is a perfect afternoon for a nap," he replied. "Would it be all right if I joined you?"

She smiled and went back to bed, trusting him to follow her. He kicked off his boots and removed everything but his shirt and trousers. Figuring that was as comfortable as he was going to get, he lay down next to her.

She was right where she had landed, flopped on her stomach with her face buried in her pillow. He reached out and tentatively touched her back, soothing across the thin fabric. She was so tense, her muscles hard and knotted under his fingers. He tried flattening his hand into her a little more firmly, kneading as he moved down.

Her moan was heartfelt but decidedly unladylike, and he couldn't help a chuckle. She turned her head to face him, mirth in her own expression. She started to speak but he shushed her and ran his palm down her spine. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, submitting to his ministrations. He continued on, relaxing her until her moans and sighs became faint and then stopped entirely, replaced by her even breath.

Satisfied she was finally getting the rest she desperately needed, he settled down next to her and didn't wake until after six o'clock. She didn't stir at all as he got up, so he padded back to her sitting room, lit a lamp, and retrieved his sandwich from the icebox. After eating he debated what to do next. He figured he could read his paper, but he wasn't sure if he should take the lamp by the bed and risk disturbing her, or stay out in the sitting area and have her wake up without him. She had asked him to stay.

He finally decided that he'd rather be with her so he turned the lamp down as low as possible and brought it with him. She made no response to the light or him rejoining her and he quietly read the entire paper. When he finished he checked his watch; it was after eight o'clock and he would need to get going in a short while.

He lightly caressed her back and shoulders and heard a sharp intake of breath. She shifted with a little grumble and tried to settle back down. He stroked her hair and her cheek, and quietly called her name. She dragged her eyes open.

"Anna, I'm so sorry to bother you. I'm going to have to leave soon."

She looked confused at this. "Time is it?" she mumbled sleepily.

"It's a little after eight."

She sat straight up. "What? Why didn't you wake me up before?"

"You were sleeping so soundly. I didn't have the heart to do it."

"But the whole day is gone. You have to leave and I barely got to see you." He was thrown by the regret in her voice.

He pulled her close, and to his surprise she came without hesitation, resting her head on his shoulder. "I know, darling, but you were so tired. You needed the rest. Are things going to let up at the factory anytime soon? I am a little worried about you."

"I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can. You're the strongest person I know, but even you can't go forever without a break."

"I'm supposed to be getting another line supervisor this week. That should help. And I'm hoping I've fixed it so this morning's problem doesn't happen again."

"Good—I'm glad to hear it." He kissed her temple and let go of her. "I suppose I should be getting ready."

She wrapped her arms around his chest. "Just another minute or two?" she asked.

He held her quietly for a few moments before speaking again. "So when you're disappointed that we didn't get to spend the day together and you want me to stay with you for a bit it's because you're upset we haven't made love?"

She gazed up at him oddly. "Where would you get an idea like that?"

He gave her a pointed look and she dropped her eyes down, remembering what she'd said when he arrived.

"What makes you think it's any different for me?" he asked her softly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, squeezing him tighter and kissing his neck.

He never hated leaving as much as he did that night.

xXx

"John!" she exhorted as she nudged him. "You're going to miss your train if you don't get moving soon."

He had nodded off over their book, no doubt worn out by his enthusiastic exertions earlier that afternoon. He had been in a rare mood when he arrived. The glint in his eye when she met him at the door ran a shiver through her with the promise of a pleasurable time ahead, and he hadn't disappointed. They didn't even make it past her sofa for the first bit, but after he made her cry out there he had urged her to the bed and continued on until they were both left quite insensible. She had thought they were done, but as he held her afterward he began massaging, teasing, and coaxing until she was left sprawled out, struggling to catch her breath again. He looked rather pleased with himself as he got up to get them a glass of water, but she was too well satisfied to begrudge him his smug smile.

"I don't want to go," he groaned, and reached for her, setting her on top of him and burying his face in her neck. "I want to make love to you again, and then I want to go to sleep and wake up next to you tomorrow morning. And I want to do the same thing tomorrow night and every night after that."

"And I want a treasure chest filed with gold and diamonds. None of this is getting you dressed and off to the station."

"Marry me, Anna."

"Really, if you wanted to play you should have started earlier. You're going to get stuck if you don't hurry." She scooted off of him and started gathering up the clothing strewn around the bed.

He rolled on his side to face her. "I'm not playing. I love you, and I'm completely serious. Will you marry me?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Sincere thanks to all those who read and reviewed-you make this fun!_

_This chapter probably also qualifies for a strong T rating. It can end logically before the last section for those who prefer to skip such things. _

* * *

><p>"Don't, John. Please."<p>

"Why? Is the idea so disagreeable that we can't even discuss it?"

"Why do we need to change anything? I didn't think you found this unpleasant."

"I want more. I've always wanted more and I think you know that. I've been willing to wait, but I'm never going to be satisfied with just this."

"What If I am?"

"Have you been happy when we've been together? Why do you think marrying me would make that any different?"

"I have a life here."

"Am I really not part of your life at all? Is this just a pleasant fortnightly diversion for you?" He sat up on the edge of the bed and began pulling his clothes on.

"Of course not. I do care for you, but I have a job and plans for the future."

"Do you love me, Anna? Or could you ever?"

"I told you—I'm not that girl anymore. I am not going to get carried away and lose myself. I can't do that again!"

"It's been a year! I am very sorry for the things I did back then. I have explained and apologized in every way you'd let me. Can you really tell me I've done nothing over all this time to redeem myself? "

She turned her head away, unable to answer, and walked toward the sitting room. He finished dressing and followed her.

"You have to let the past go. Trust me, I know that. I learned that lesson in the hardest way possible and it has cost me more dearly than I ever could have imagined. You were always the better of the two of us. Don't make the same mistakes I did. "

"I don't need you to tell me what to do."

His jaw tightened. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I'm trying to help. Back then I thought I was doing the right thing that would protect everyone, but I was miserable and so were you. I got scared and took a situation where there was a chance we could get hurt and made into one where we both definitely were. Please don't do that here. We could have so much. "

"I agreed to being friends, John."

"That ended the minute you took me to bed!"

"You kissed me!"

"I kissed you because I love you and couldn't go a second longer without doing something about it! Why do you kiss me?"

The question hung in the air between them. Seeing that he wasn't going to get an answer, he sighed and got his coat on. He opened the door, but turned back to her once more. "Do you want to keep doing this, Anna? If I'm not what you want there doesn't seem to be much point in continuing on."

Her eyes widened but she still made no response. Disappointed, there was nothing for him to do but leave. Once outside he took a deep breath, trying to slow his pounding heart. Proposing to her was nothing short of a suicide mission. He recognized that the second the words came out of his mouth, but he'd been unable to stop them. He wanted her. He wanted her so very badly and he wanted all of her, not just a bit of something on his days off. To some men that would probably be the answer to all of their prayers, but he wasn't one of them anymore.

He realized she hadn't actually said no at any point, or that she didn't love him. Was that going to be enough hope to cling to? How much more of this could he stand? He craved being with her, but each time she twisted away at his touch or tensed up when he made any hint as to his feelings another little piece of him died. He knew, though, that she had endured worse from him and he truly owed her nothing less than those two years he originally offered her. Unless she told him to stop he was going to keep that promise, even if it killed him, and tonight he felt it just might.

xXx

What had just happened? His visit had begun with him laying her out on her sofa and making her see stars and somehow ended with them shouting at each other over getting married. She sank down on the side of the bed, trying to make sense of everything crashing around in her mind.

As much as she'd tried, she couldn't deny that she loved him. She'd never quite stopped, which is why it had hurt so much and frightened her so thoroughly when he reappeared. It had been easier at first to push it back, then to pretend they could just be friends, and finally to assure herself that he was only interested in her as a lover than to face the prospect that she'd given her heart just as completely again, in a shockingly short amount of time.

It had been humiliating being so in love with him back then. She pursued him pathetically, finding him in out in the yard, slowing her step to match his so she could walk with him, and catching him for quiet bits of conversation in hallways, even though he almost never sought her out and rarely received her with anything more than polite acceptance-sometimes even less than that. Even that awful afternoon on the path hadn't been able to stop her. She'd stood there, listened to his gentle rejection, and still couldn't check herself.

Loving him hadn't been a joyful experience. It didn't make her feel good about herself; quite the opposite, in fact. He'd explained that he felt he had to maintain a mask of indifference toward her, despite his true feelings. He had no idea how well he'd succeeded. She couldn't quite believe his pursuit of her was sincere. How could he really want her now after he'd turned her down so many times? Why hadn't he loved her enough then?

But he had come for her. He had tracked down his wife, managed the seemingly impossible task of getting her to agree to a divorce, and bore the considerable expense and scandal of it. Then, well over a year after she'd ran, he came after her. It didn't seem like the actions of a man with a passing fancy. Once unencumbered he could have walked out with any willing woman—there certainly were plenty available with so many men gone—but he came directly to her the first moment he could. And he kept coming; sitting on that ridiculous bench when she wouldn't see him, dragging himself out when he was ill, and braving the cold, wet winter to get to her.

She knew she should count her blessings. It seemed every other week she was consoling one of her workers who had lost a sweetheart or a husband. She had a good man who loved her, who was safe at Downton during this horrible war, and she was choosing to push him off because she was scared. She wondered what those women would say if she explained her reasons for keeping John at arm's length. Would they think an old mistake he had tried his best to repair and worry about losing control of her life were worth giving up another day with him?

She had thought she could control it; that if she maintained rules and boundaries she could protect herself. But if she had succeeded so well, why did she feel so awful right now? She was hurting, and she knew she had hurt him too, which filled her with shame. Had she wanted to hurt him? To make him feel as she once had? She would never have thought herself so petty and spiteful before.

Maybe she wasn't as modern as she had thought. She liked working, liked having her own place, and enjoyed her freedom, but she also loved him. Much as she valued having her independence, she also wanted a home and family. The question, she supposed, was what did she want more?

That question was never far from her thoughts as the days passed. She walked back from the factory each night and it occurred to her that she would be very happy to see him when she got home. Her room, which she had once so fiercely protected as hers alone, now felt a bit empty when he wasn't there. It had changed in tiny ways to accommodate him. She'd put down a small rug next to the door for his boots, and a packet of ginger nuts, which she despised, sat on her sideboard. They were his favorite and she had bought them without even thinking about it. Even though he had never stayed a night with her, more often than not she woke up on her side of the bed.

She thought about what they had shared, even though they weren't married, and she realized she couldn't imagine making that same decision with another man. She hadn't simply wanted to make love, she had wanted to make love with him, and he had been willing to let her have that within the bounds she set, even though she knew it was not how he would have liked it.

He'd done that a lot over the last year, she acknowledged. He had let her set the pace between them, let her have what she wanted even when he probably would have preferred different, even when it caused him pain. She had wondered whether she could ever trust him again, but how could she not, after he had endured all of this? He had come to her faithfully, even when she rejected him outright, and hadn't quit when things were difficult. She had to wonder how long he'd be willing to keep that up, especially after she'd been so careless with his feelings. She'd eventually been driven to give up. It was only reasonable to think that he would too. Had he already?

That thought, more than any of the others, worried at her each day.

xXx

After spending two weeks stewing she still wasn't sure they could resolve things between them, but when their Sunday arrived she knew with complete certainty that there was no way she could go without talking to him, or even just being near him that day. She had been momentarily paralyzed when he asked her if he should keep coming. He sounded so defeated and the idea that he would disappear from her life again was terrifying. Did he take her silence as confirmation he should stop? Was he mad enough at her to stay behind?

She couldn't take that chance. As she lay in bed it occurred to her that if she waited to see if he came it would be too late to go after him if he didn't, so she got herself up, dressed quickly, and made her way to the depot. She would go to his station and if he didn't come to catch his train then she would find him. She would look around the village, even call on the estate if she had to, but she needed to see him.

She wondered what these journeys had been like for him as she fidgeted in her seat. She looked out the window and thought about what might have caught his eye as he rode this same route over and over. When she arrived at Downton Village it dawned that she hadn't entirely thought through her plan. It was only half ten; he would just be arriving at church. The train he usually took to visit her didn't leave until a little after one o'clock. She figured she'd get to see a bit more of the world through his eyes as she settled herself on a bench to wait for him.

When she finally saw him approach her heart leapt in her throat and for the first time since she met him she didn't try to tamp it down. She met his eyes bravely, watching the surprise register on his face.

"Anna? What are you doing here?"

"You came," she said.

"Of course I did."

"I wasn't sure if you would."

"You don't expect very much of me, do you?" he asked wearily, sitting down beside her.

She'd told herself that if things were ever going to be right between them that she would need to be honest and open with him, and she decided this was as good a time as any to start. "If I don't expect too much, I can't be disappointed. At least that's what I tried to tell myself."

"I don't want to disappoint you. I will do everything in my power never to let you down again."

"I believe you," she replied solemnly.

"Why did you come all this way?"

"You said you waited a year for me," she said, her voice low and unsure.

He shook his head slowly. "I don't want another year of this."

She cast her eyes down. Had she missed her chance? Had she been so stubborn and full of pride that she'd ruined everything?

He reached out and lifted her chin with his fingers.

"I want forever."

xXx

"Are you able to forgive me, Anna?"

He had ushered her on to the train back to Harrogate and so far they rode in silence. After they were seated she had reached between them to take his hand, shocking him even as the gesture filled him with hope. She clutched him tightly and he held on just as securely as the fields and farms and villages passed outside their window.

"I am. I'm tired of being unhappy and I'm ready to let it go." She hesitated a moment. "Do you think you'd be able to forgive me?"

He looked like he wanted to protest, but she shook her head and continued.

"There is plenty I need you to forgive me for. I wanted to protect myself and I injured you in the process. I'm very sorry for that."

"It's forgotten already. If anyone could understand, it's me," he replied, offering her a small smile and squeezing her hand.

The ride was quick and before she knew it they got off in Harrogate and started toward her place. She wasn't quite ready to go in, though. She didn't trust herself; she knew they needed to talk this out and the temptation of being alone with him felt a bit too strong, especially given that her emotions were running high. She directed them toward a bench and was very grateful when he joined her without question.

He was brave enough to speak first. "Where does this leave us? What I want hasn't changed."

She twisted her hands in her lap. "Marrying you would be wonderful; I just wish I could be more certain. I don't want to hurt you, John, or give you less than you deserve. If I could be married to you and still keep my independence, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

He laughed at that, surprising her and making her shrink back, afraid he was laughing at her. Seeing her reaction, he sobered and reached to take her hand again.

"Is that your objection to marrying me?"

"Yes," she answered quietly. "I suppose it is."

"Not that you don't love me or don't want to spend your life with me?"

"No, John." She brought her free hand up to stroke the side of his face and felt her stomach flutter in answer as his eyes darkened. "I do love you very much. And I haven't said no either. I just wish I could have both."

"Anna, darling, what makes you think that you can't?"

"I don't understand."

"I am not a young man anymore. I've seen enough and done enough to know that things don't have to work only one way. I don't just want a wife at home. I want you. I love you and I want you to be happy."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that our marriage could be whatever we agreed to. There are things I want, but we would work that out just between us."

"What do you want?"

"I'd like to have a family, if we could. I want that very much. I would also like to remain at Downton, if at all possible. I am indebted to his Lordship and feel that I should remain in his service as long as he wishes it. Do you think you could be happy living at the estate? In one of the cottages, maybe?"

She considered this. She understood his loyalty to Lord Grantham. His sense of duty and honor was one of things that made him the man she loved and she couldn't bear to make him give that up. It seemed like he was willing to bend a great deal for her; maybe she could do this for him.

"I think that might be all right, John. I don't want to go back into service, though."

"We won't have great means, but you wouldn't have to stay on anywhere after we were married. I wouldn't object if there was something you did want to do, though. What do you want, Anna?"

"I like my job. I know it won't last forever, but I hate the idea of leaving, especially right in the middle of things."

"Well," he said slowly, "it would be a bit unorthodox, but what if you stayed on, and we continued as we have been until the war is over?"

"You'd really be willing to do that?"

"It wouldn't be my first choice, if we're being honest. I will always want you with me as much as possible, but I do understand. You've accomplished so much there and made a real contribution. We certainly wouldn't be the only couple separated by the war."

"It would be good for us too, in the long run. I'd be able to add to my savings which would probably help a lot when we do have our family."

His smile turned wistful—she was talking about a future for them as if it might actually come to pass. "I would still want to get married soon as possible, though, even if we are going to remain apart for a time."

"So we'll marry straight away, I'll stay in Harrogate for the duration, and afterwards we'll find ourselves a little cottage near Downton and get right to work on that family?"

"Is that a yes, Anna?" He held his breath, and watched as a wide smile broke over her face.

"Yes!" she replied clasping his hands tightly, sure his silly grin was matched perfectly with her own. They stared at each other for a few moments, taking in the enormity of what they had just decided, before she stood, pulling him up with her. "Let's go home, John."

"Home?" he asked.

"It started out as mine, but it's not right without you anymore. It's time to make it ours."

xXx

He watched her begin to prepare tea and couldn't help but remember that rainy afternoon when he had tormented himself by imagining it as a simple, wifely gesture. He could hardly take in the fact that it seemed that dream had come true. Suddenly the few feet that separated them became too much distance to bear.

"Anna," he said softly as he came up behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist, thrilling that she didn't stiffen or duck away, but instead leaned back into him with a quiet hum, "about this family…"

"Yes, John?" she replied with a shiver.

He kissed the nape of her neck. "I know we won't be starting it just yet, but I'd hate for us to get rusty in the meantime."

"That's very thoughtful of you. We wouldn't want to get caught unprepared when the time comes," she replied, tilting her head to the side, inviting him to continue on.

"Exactly," he said against her skin, slipping the buttons running down her back and following the path with his lips.

He undid the whole row and pushed her dress down over her hips before taking her back to the bed. They'd made love so many times, but today it felt completely different. That tension, that caution that he'd felt her wrap around herself to hold him back, was totally and deliciously gone.

He swiftly uncovered her and rid himself of his own clothes, then tugged her down with him. His hands and lips were frantic as they moved over her, readying her to receive him. The urge to connect, to be part of her, was nearly overwhelming and he was never so grateful when she shifted under him and reached out. He quickly prepared himself and sank in deeply, groaning and dropping his head next to hers as she enveloped him. He couldn't get close enough to her, but he'd happily die trying.

Once inside her the urgency dropped away as some ancient need in him was satisfied. His movements became slow and deliberate as he raised his head to watch the delight play on her face.

"You're really going to marry me?"

"Yes, John," she dragged out through a moan. "You've forgotten already?"

"Tell me again."

She took his face in her hands and kissed him lovingly. She then hooked her leg around him and pushed at his chest, rolling them over. She moved against him, smiling as he closed his eyes and grasped her hips. He began guiding her and she let him, following his pace, knowing this time was about reassuring him and healing over some of the wounds she'd left.

"I love you," she whispered, her breath beginning to hitch. He groaned in response and began moving more forcefully under her.

"I'm going to be your wife," she meant to say, but it got mangled when he slid his hand to where their bodies were joined. He'd gotten quite proficient in their months together, painstakingly exploring her and experimenting until he learned exactly what she needed. It was a wonder, she thought dimly, that she'd never blurted out a proposal of her own in moments like this.

She was quickly overcome, and he followed right behind. She collapsed on top of him and he held her tightly for as long as he dared before moving to take care of things. He reached out for her again and felt himself tense. Before she'd always pulled away, turned over, or guarded her expression. To his immense relief, this time she came back eagerly. She draped herself over him, and when he opened his eyes he found her looking back at him, her gaze full of affection. She touched her lips gently to his and then laid her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, finding comfort in the light weight against his body and the slow, steady rhythm of her breath.

"I was thinking," he said quietly, "maybe after the war is over I could work out a bit of a leave and we could do some of that traveling you've talked about."

"Oh John, that would be wonderful."

"I don't ever want you to feel like you've lost something by marrying me. I want you to have what you've dreamed about."

"I'm sorry that I've given you a reason to feel that way." She pushed herself up to look directly at him, wanting to make sure he understood her perfectly. "I'm not settling for you, or marrying you reluctantly because I have no better options. Being your wife is what I want, more than anything. Whatever else we can manage together will only be extra."

He flipped them over and took her mouth in a long, intimate kiss. "I choose you," she gasped when he released her lips and turned his attention to her neck. He wasn't perfect, and neither was she, but they were very good together. She knew she had chosen well.

His kisses trailed lower.

Very well indeed.


End file.
